Primeval
by tomfuckery-afoot
Summary: They don't like each other, or at least they'd never say so. But each would kill for the other, that much is an unspoken mutual understanding between them. An oath of their very own. (Arya is older in this story)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Firstly, please make note that Arya's age in this story is bumped up a wee bit. In my mind she's about 14 going on 15 at the beginning of this story and in the second part she is 16 or there about, if anyone was wanting to know. I also would like to apologize for any grammatical errors as I do not have a Beta. If there's a mistake that's simply too ghastly to let stand, feel free to point it out, of course.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones**

* * *

Arya sat at the table with him, watching him shove bread and stew into his mouth like it was the first and last time. She couldn't help being both fascinated and utterly disgusted by the savage abandon with which he ate, huddled over the bowl, growling into it just like the dog he was.

"The fuck you looking at?" He glanced up.

"You're disgusting." She huffed at him, leaning back to get further away from him.

"Not so pretty yourself."

Arya thought on that a moment. "I don't need to be pretty. I've got a sword."

"Aye. And it'd do you a world of good if you knew how to use it." He grumbled, retreating back to his hunched shape and began eating again, paying no mind to Arya's sudden outrage.

She tried hard to ignore his brash comments but every now and then, when she couldn't think of a witty comeback, her tongue ran before her mind. "I know how to use it!"

He laughed. "How do you figure that?"

At that she grinned, grabbing Needle and placing it right against his inner thigh.

His body became stiff, he sat up straight at the feeling of her blade there, staring at her, not wavering a bit. "Go on, then."

She wondered not for the first time, and not for the last, if she could actually do it. Knick him in his artery right now and just run, run as fast as she could, and maybe find a way to the Wall too.

She wondered if she really had the heart to kill the great, blighted beast now, after all the time she had spent traveling with him.

Tracing the tip of her blade up and down the length of his inner thigh, she had a thought, and stuck Needle into the cloth of his trousers, ripping the fabric and placing the point against his bare skin.

His breath hitched quietly. His face froze, stuck in a small concern that she might finally finish it.

"I'm not a little girl anymore." She grinned.

"No." He agreed. "You're a little boy."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not really."

He eyed the tavern, the people there, then looked back to the Stark girl. "Oh, yes you are. If any one of these men knew what was between your legs, they'd fuck you bloody and leave you for dead."

She pushed forward, almost yelling above the sounds of chattering around them. "They're not all like that!"

"Aye and your noble knights there wouldn't think twice about jabbing at that cunt of yours, don't question that for a second." She huffed. He continued, putting his finger between her precious 'needle' and his groin. "You'll be glad to have me when they start lining up, believe me."

"They won't." She removed her blade, raising her chin to him. "They all think I'm a boy."

"And the second you open your bitch mouth they'll know you're not. So keep your fucking voice down."

And with that he finished his meal in silence, while she suddenly became very wary of the men in the room.

They had spent so long like this, her being a boy and him being her reluctant guardian that when the day was upon them, neither had expected the abruptness with which it came.

* * *

 _One Year Later_

She could pass for a little boy, when she'd kept her hair short, and hadn't had any breasts to worry about.

But it had been longer than either the Hound or Arya had realized, and she could no longer pass for a boy. Overnight it seemed, her breasts had filled in, becoming terribly difficult to bind. Her body became softly curved and molded into a feminine shape that startled Arya when she caught a reflection of herself.

Aside from that, her face had lost its roundness, her jaw was trimmed sharply and her features were very defined and harsh, making her seem dangerous in a beautiful sort of way. All the time she had spent saying that beauty was of little consequence, she had failed to notice her own budding maturity, and now that she'd noticed it, she did enjoy the edge and advantage that it could give her.

The Hound, however, didn't. As she had cast aside her body's changes, he had not. At first it concerned him, making his mood even more sour than usual. He thought every day of how hard it was becoming to keep her womanly looking body hidden under those boy's clothes she had worn for so long.

But even he had forgotten about what happened when a girl was made a woman.

Arya hadn't spoken to him for 2 days and though at first, the quiet was a welcome change, it had promptly become infuriating. She would huff at something he said now and then, or stomp on the ground to make her annoyance known, but she wouldn't say a word, wincing from time to time when her horse miss-stepped or made a jump. That was when he began to worry.

"You hurt, girl?" He didn't turn around to look at her on his horse, just kept riding ahead of her, awaiting an answer as he tried not to seem too eager for one.

She said nothing, only tensed slightly at his words. When he didn't hear an answer he turned his head a little to the side, "Well?"

"It doesn't matter." She said, sterner than she'd thought she could in her weakened state, but a bit softer than she would've liked.

He said nothing in response, not wanting to seem overly worried about her. That'd give her the wrong idea, and he didn't want her thinking he was some type of father figure anyhow.

When they stopped at nightfall to make camp, it had become slightly chilly, and the colder it got, the stiffer Arya's insides felt.

When she jumped off the horse with a wince, she saw the blood spot she had left on the saddle and groaned.

"What _is_ it, Girl?" The Hound asked gruffly as he stomped over to her and shoved her roughly aside. He looked at her saddle as she had and back at her. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

And then he trudged away, and didn't acknowledge it any more than that until after she had returned from rinsing herself, and dressing herself as best she could to prevent too much more blood from becoming free of her breeches. She didn't really know the logistics of moon blood. It wasn't something she was old enough for when she was in the capitol and after, the only people around her were men and boys, and besides, it wasn't something she had thought about until it had actually happened.

When she returned, she sat down on the ground, across the fire from the beast of a man that accompanied her, taking in her surroundings, steadying her breathing. One hint of her feelings inside and the Hound would pounce on it, just like a true dog, making her even more uncomfortable just because he enjoyed to.

"So the little wolf has flowered." He grumbled, and spat into the fire.

She said nothing to him, only laid down on her side, facing away from him, and the flames. "Doesn't matter." She meekly replied.

He chuckled bitterly at that. "Sure it doesn't."

She turned on him and growled. "Shut up, _Hound_."

He took a drink of his flask, and grimaced at her and replied in a mocking, but warning tone. "Mind your tongue, Bitch."

"Why? You don't." she huffed.

"I haven't got to." Was his short reply.

"Then why do I?" she glared at him, rolling her eyes.

"'cause yer a little lady. Got to act the part."

"But why? I don't _look_ like a lady." She sat up.

He grimaced. "That's what you are."

"I thought I was a little boy." She said defiantly, crossing her arms.

"Aye, you _were_." He spoke hoarsely as his eyes roamed over her newly flowered body, taking in every bit of evidence that proved that to be a true statement.

"But not anymore?" she looked at him skeptically, cocking her head to the side as if she hadn't noticed his blatant gaze.

He shook himself out of his trance. "Why the fuck you ask so many questions, girl?"

With that he turned his back to her and laid down on his back, staring at the empty sky. She didn't say anything else, thank the Gods. He didn't know what he'd do if she said more. The thought that she had blossomed into a woman, frightened him. Well, perhaps it was his involuntary reaction to it that frightened him. He needed a good fuck, he supposed, hadn't had one in a while. And she needed to stop with her incessant questions.

Arya lay down again, on her side so that she could watch him while she said her list of names, quietly, under the sound of the crackling fire, so he couldn't hear her. She had gotten her point across once, it needn't be pointed out again that he was on her list. He knew the threat that she posed, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, or to her.

She looked at the beastly man, his hulking figure splayed across the cold ground. There was a time when she feared him, silently, but feared him all the same. Still now, he scared her sometimes. But she took comfort in the knowledge that she also had the capacity to scare him, impress him even, though he was too stubborn to ever admit it.

But when he looked at her now, she could see that he did not look at her the same. Something in his eyes had changed when he had seen the blood on her saddle. Like he had just jolted to the realization that she was a woman, for all intents and purposes. That she _looked_ like a woman.

And he was angry about it, too.

* * *

"Up." He kicked her a little before walking away from her sleeping form.

He had spent a few minutes after he'd woken up just looking at her. It was one of the rare times he woke up before her and despite his every intention to ignore it, he couldn't help but watch her, what a beautiful thing she was when she wasn't scowling at him.

When he realized what he was doing, he jolted up and became himself again. He was not happy about the way he saw her now, he dreaded to know what she would think if she saw him acting like a green boy. It was embarrassing enough as it was. He kicked her side a little to wake her up.

She huffed. "What was that for?" Arya got up and dusted herself off, glaring all the while.

He didn't dignify her pouting with a response, and instead, shoved a pack of supplies into her chest before stocking off to the horses. Arya watched him retreat for a few seconds, staring daggers into his back before making her way back to the stream to rinse herself. Gods, it was becoming the bane of her existence, this whole 'bloody' affair.

The Hound was waiting by the horses and looking rather impatient by the time she returned and grunted at her in discontent as she passed him to reach her horse. They spoke no words to each other all day, riding in what had become quite companionable silence, despite the denial of both parties.

It was an odd thing, Arya thought, that two people could be so different and yet still manage to involuntarily become a pack of their own. Looking at his broad, armored shoulders ahead of her, she realized (though she was quite loath to admit it) that she would kill to protect that mangled dog. She was even more reluctant to admit that she knew he would do the same.

She had never asked him, of course. It had become an unspoken sort of pact between them, that the only ones permitted to give either of them grief were the two of them. Sure, they'd sometimes come a hare's breath from pummeling one another to pulps but that was part of their strange relationship, and if a third party tried to touch one of them, they'd meet the other's wrath.

It was possessive and odd and above all, unspoken.

They only uttered words once they had camped for the night, whilst they were both lying across the fire from one another, on their backs. Her eyes open, his closed, but neither sleeping.

"Hound." She said, louder than she meant after festering all day in her thoughts.

"Seven Hells, girl. What?" He rumbled.

"Where are we going now?" she asked as she fidgeted.

"I don't know. Shut your mouth and go to sleep." He responded, and despite the rudeness of the words, they had no edge. It was startling actually, how softly they had left his ruined lips. Startling for both of them.

"I just… I've no family left. There's no one left to sell me to. I just… wonder what you plan on doing now." She sighed, shaking her head.

The Hound turned over on his side, facing her across the fire. "You think I'm going to leave you in the woods somewhere, cut my losses, girl?" It wasn't a question, not really.

She didn't need to answer. He huffed out a chuckle. "No, I won't leave you to die, you little fool. Now by the Gods, shut up and go to fucking sleep."

With that she turned to face him as well, but his eyes were already closed again. She watched him for moment, considering. Damn him, the bastard. Damn him for knowing that she was afraid of that. Damn him for being the last one she had left to care for and damn him for knowing it, too.

* * *

 **~Bailee**


	2. Chapter 2

Her moon blood had come and gone, thank the Gods, but in its wake was a mess of new problems for Arya and her companion. They had not traveled very far since, as the weather had taken an ugly turn. A terrible storm lay before them, the likes of which Arya had never seen. She supposed the Hound had seen many a storm like it. He had seen a great many things more than she. He'd certainly seen enough cruelty to warrant his bitterness, she thought grimly.

They rode into the thick of it, it seemed, as the further they rode, the harder the rain, the deeper the rumbles of thunder. Worse, however, was the wind, which set the horses on edge and caused the rain to pelt them in the face. And if that wasn't atrocious enough, it had become horribly cold in her sopping clothes.

Apparently the Hound found himself at his threshold for the weather as well when he growled out something about finding "someplace fucking dry". They eventually did find an inn, though it was packed to the brim with other travelers and the like, all escaping the ghastly storm.

It was midday but so utterly bleak as they arrived at the inn's stable that she could scarcely see the Hound, only able to make out his hulking outline through the heavy rain. It was dark as night and Arya struggled with her saddle a moment before she felt his large hands pull her roughly from her horse and into the mud. She followed him as closely as she could without stepping on his heels, and found herself grabbing onto his forearm when the winds began to sway her small frame. He spoke naught of it, although she felt him tense and glare down at her.

He opened the door to the inn with such force that he nearly broke it off its hinges and stood in the frame, as if daring anyone to say anything to him. Arya stood at his side, dropping her hand from his arm, but following closely still, as he shoved through the crowded room to a counter. A frail looking old woman hobbled over to them, seeming completely un-phased by the sheer mountain of a man before her.

After paying more than the Hound would've liked for one of the last rooms left free, they were escorted by the old woman up a set of equally brittle-looking wooden stairs. She stopped and clasped her wrinkled hands together in her front, turning and looking Arya up and down with pity.

"I'll fetch you something dry, Dear." She glanced at the Hound suspiciously before scurrying off.

"Oh- thank you." Arya stuttered out to the woman's retreating form, unaccustomed to kindness from… well anyone, really.

The Hound said nothing, opening the door and stepping through with long strides. He sat down on a stool on the far side of the small room and began hastily removing his shoulder pieces. Arya stepped in slowly, examining the new surroundings. There was no fire lit, though she doubted the Hound minded, no matter how cold she knew he must be. There was one corner of the room, presumably for bathing as there was a large tub tucked into the nook. Arya's skin tingled at the thought of a warm bath. Oh, it had been a long time. Her eyes fell on the bed. Certainly more comfortable than the hard ground, but nothing special if you were accustomed to feather beds and plush pillows. Luckily, Arya was not.

 _A bed._ She sighed wearily.

The old woman returned with dry clothes for Arya and quickly apologized to the Hound, explaining that she had nothing that would fit him. He simply grunted in reply. When she had left, he stood and began pulling his rough spun tunic from his trousers. Arya watched for a only a moment before following suit.

She pulled her tunic over her head, briefly using it to try and sop up some of the water from her hair, to no avail.

He was not watching her, but instead, ringing out his wet tunic in the tub, in nothing but his trousers. He looked more intimidating then, half naked and soaked to the bone than he ever had before. His back was rippling with muscle and littered with scars of varying shapes and sizes, a story stretched across his thickened skin.

She thought for the first time (consciously at least) that he was not so horrible to look upon. She rather liked the view, actually. Though she'd sooner rot in the seventh hell than utter the words aloud. She turned from him before he noticed her and removed her chest wraps with an astounding lack of grace, her undergarments following closely behind, all the while attempting to block out the sound of the Hound wrestling with his wet trousers and ringing them out as well. She would not think of him naked. _She would not_.

After she'd changed into the oversized shift the woman had brought her, Arya fell heavily upon the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and shivering insistently. The bed dipped dramatically with the weight of the Hound, as he lay down on his side next her. He uttered a disapproving grunt as the sound of her teeth chattering fell upon his ears. No words were spoken between them. He pulled her into his chest which was bare but for the copious amounts of black hair which trailed all the way down past his breaches, arm wrapped around her back. With no fire in the small room, it was a necessity that even Arya and the Hound could understand. In truth, his skin did not feel warm against her own. He must have been very cold. But as she pressed closer she wrapped an arm over his torso, tucked her freezing legs between his, and they both began to thaw. Exhaustion soon took her, but as it did, Arya felt a tug of disquiet on her heart, at how good and right and equally, unnerving, it felt to be held by such a grotesque man as the _Hound_.

* * *

He lay awake for some time after he felt the Little Wolf's warm breath deepen and slow upon his skin. He watched the top her head intently, tucked his fingers into the damp tangles of her hair which rested beneath his chin. She hadn't meant to press her thigh against his groin when she slid her leg between his, he knew. That didn't make his pulse slow any though. _Damn girl._ He hadn't thought twice about pulling her to him when he'd seen her little fingers shaking and turning purple at the ends from the cold. _Damn girl_. When had she made him so soft? Begrudgingly, he watched his fingers twist in her hair, imagining taking a fistful of it and pulling as he got a taste of that soft skin on her neck.

He closed his eyes with a growl- whine, more like. Maybe he'd find a tavern wench on the morrow. Perhaps he'd finally get some peace. Fucking a whore was lighter on the conscience than sniffing at the skirts of a highborn bitch. He held on tighter, closing his eyes only when her body stopped shivering. The deep rumble of the storm outside carried him to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Arya woke, well rested and warmer than she had been in years. Nearly freezing to death made one appreciate warmth when they were gifted it. Coarse hair tickled her nose and she huffed, shaking her head a little to escape it. She tried to stretch her legs, but was unable to. Looking down, she found that they were trapped in place by the those of the Hound. She tilted her head up (as far as their position would allow) and found her face inches from the Hound's scars. Her breath hitched, due to proximity more than the burns. This close, she could see fully the extent of the scar for the first time. It wasn't so bad, Arya thought. _It could be much worse._ She reached a hand up, shoved his hair out of the way, and grazed the skin with the tips of her fingers. _Soft_. She gasped a little. _Smooth._ Not nearly as rough as it looked.

She felt his body tense before she noticed his hand reach up and grab her own. She looked into his face but his eyes didn't open.

"No." he growled.

" _Hmmph…"_ she mumbled and drew her hand back to her chest.

He disentangled himself from her roughly, and dressed. "Wait here." He rumbled, slamming the door behind him.


End file.
